Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen From Mars
by Telaka
Summary: Song fic! Trip hatches one of his more... ingenious plans to promote staff moral involving face paints and a CDeck lounge party.
1. Trip's Master Plan

**_Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen From Mars_**

_A.N:_

This piece will be silly. It'll be OOC and it'll be full of stuff that never, in a seven-year lifetime of any Star Trek show, would happen. If you don't like seeing Trip acting like a kid and Archer like an off-duty Ensign, I suggest you give this a skip. If you like your fics to be fun, then read on.

_Disclaimers: _Only the characters' OOCness belongs to me; their names, the ship and C Deck, etc, all belong to Paramount.

The song _'Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen From Mars' _belongs to Bon Jovi, and is from the album _'Crush'. _Listen to it, it's a great song. It goes at thus:****

****

****

_Dressed up for a big date  
Like Halloween day but it was Fourth of July now  
A car crash with a suitcase and a painted face  
She was one of a kind  
She wears a plastic crown like Cinderella  
And roller skates in bed _

_Crash rides the greyhound from his hometown  
When he comes around 'cause they don't let him drive now  
Mixed up as a milkshake  
But make no mistake  
They're shooting for the stars _

___  
**You and me  
We're invincible together  
We can be so tragical, whatever  
Dressed up just like ziggy but he couldn't play guitar  
Captain Crash and the beauty queen from mars **_

_Share a toothpick, trading lipstick__  
Watching traffic for days at the diner  
Holding hands, making big plans  
Playing Superman, he was wearing eyeliner  
Another local legend and his long-time lucky charm  
___

_  
**You and me  
We're invincible together  
We can be so tragical, whatever  
Dressed up just like ziggy but he couldn't play guitar  
Captain Crash and the beauty queen from mars **_****

_They're drunk on love as you can get  
Getting high on lust and cigarettes  
Living life with no regrets  
At least they're gonna try to fly  
_

_  
  
**You and me  
We're invincible together  
We can be so tragical, whatever ** _

_We're Sid and Nancy  
Fred and Ginger  
Clyde and Bonnie  
Liz and Richard  
Kurt and Courtney  
Bacall and Bogie__  
Joltin' Joe an' Ms. Monroe_

**_Here's Captain Crash and the beauty queen from mars_**

****

****

****

**_Chapter One – Trip's Master Plan_**__

They say that when embarking in something as daring and impulsive as space travel, as fantastic a job as it is, you must always prepare yourself for the worst to happen. No one ever told me – not even my father in all his sage wonder – to prepare myself for the utterly most bizarre. And not the utterly most bizarre as in strange new alien races and customs and ways of life, attire and even cuisine, (these things must often be taken with passive acceptance) but bizarre as in the insanely brilliant suggestions your Head Engineer may on a random note decide to come out with sometimes. I think he was having one of his weeks again.

"Ah say why not dress up all Halloween like for 4th of July? It be like one big staff moral boost, with cake an' all."

Dinner with Trip is almost always the highlight of any day where First Contact is not involved, and instead staring at a screen into the mockingly boring void of space for six and a half hours is. (No, I don't say that with spite.)

Dinner with Trip_ and _T'Polhowever is something most often no scaly, bumpy forehead, Spanish speaking alien can ever top.

"May I ask?"

Trip shrugged. "Yer gonna anyway, aren't ya?"

"Indeed. What is this 'Halloween', and the significance of July the 4th?"

Trip smiled to himself as I dared allowed myself to sit back and enjoy the conversation as a side order to my meal. Dinner and a show; this fantastic duo was always as entertaining to watch as it was for everyone else to watch Porthos _continue_ to be the only member on my ship who disobeys my orders. (A comment again said with not a hint of spite…)

"Didn't y' ever wonder why there were so many pretty lights in the sky on the 4th o' July back down on Earth? Never thought to ask?"

"I had not yet been assigned to the Compound on Earth the July before Enterprise was launched."

"Alright, fair 'nough. Then didn't y' ever query why all the kids were lookin' uglier than usual on October 30th?"

"My term at the Compound began on the 1st of November."

Trip shoved a generous chunk of a hapless cow in the form of a steak down his throat. T'Pol tried her very best to ignore it, but it no less rolled around the Southerner's mouth in full view before he swallowed almost half a minute later.

"No kiddin'. Y' missed the best two events o' the year then."

It was always a curiously amusing thing to see Trip reduce T'Pol to a frown.

"From what I had gathered of the crew's priorities last year, I believed a one Christmas Day was the most enjoyed by humans to celebrate."

She could be ever so poetic at times, my Sub Commander.

"Ach, don't listen to 'em. They've just been institutionalised to believe that."

Trip had been reading Dan Brown again...

"Ah c'n promise y' T'Pol, Christmas aint got _nothin'_ on Halloween. Ah mean, y' ever heard of 'The Halloween rush', or any one reasonable family ending' up bankrupted 'cause they had t' buy twenty dollar pumpkins for random relatives livin' in Australia?"

T'Pol dared to open her mouth to reply when Trip pointed his empty fork at her.

"_No_, y' haven't."

Finally though she asked the question I had been rhyming off in my head to the tune of Jingle Bells since Christmas had been mentioned in the Vulcan's poetic tongue.

"So _why_ do you propose we 'all dress up Halloween like' when it is only July?"

Vulcan logic really is a sweet and undermined thing.

"_Because, _Sub Commander, it'll be fun, _an'_ one helluvan excuse to go all out ala Halloween style twice in one year."

Trip's logic was probably best undermined at times…

"But why in two days? Why do you specify July 4th as an important date?"

By now it would be understandable to think I was growing weary of their banter. I was not.

"_Because_ July 4th is our _day_, America's day. A chance to gorge on Twinkies an' play with fireworks in yer backyard. An excuse to drink till the 6th and chat up that girl you've been eyein' at the local Engineerin' Festival in Kissimmee for the past five years. A chance for innocent male bondin' an' goin' all out an' adoptin' a hamster. Chance t' have a lil' fun; cause ah don' think we get enough o' that sometimes here no offence Sir."

He really was having one of his weeks.

"And you do this on the 4th of July because…?"

She was like a dog with a bone at times.

"Because we got our independence on that day."

"We?"

"The Americans."

"But not all the crew are American."

"Who?" 

I tried so hard not to laugh. It wasn't his fault he couldn't at least think of Malcolm for the moment; it was the promise of sugar and ice cream and costume if this plan caved through that made him so wilful really.

"Lieutenant Reed, Ensign McWilliams, Crewman Li, myself—" 

"Alright, alright, ah get it. But we can celebrate St. George's Day, an' St. Andrew's an… the Chinese New Year – yeah – when they come round, ah'm sure."

"Who are George and Andrew?"

"Alright." As amusing as it was, Trip had been wound up enough by now, and damage was sure to be dealt over the meatloaf if some order wasn't restored.

"Trip, I think that's a good idea."

I ignored the stare of my First Officer.

"If you think you can organise it efficiently."

I really had just given him the golden ticket. His boyish eyes lit up and a smile threatened to split his face clean. He was on his feet a moment later, cow and loaf forgotten.

"Really? Ah can do that?" 

I laughed and continued to ignore T'Pol, who looked close to passing out with the utter bizarreness of this whole emerging idea and the fact that I was giving it permission to exist.

"Yes Trip. I think the crew could do with a moral boost, and I don't think we'd have too many objections with rolling Halloween and Independence Day into one day. Just… keep it within the ship's supplies. No overboard jesters, no trading with other ships; just something fun and relatively simple."

"Can ah use the lounges?"

"Yes, you can use the lounges."

"An' the Bridge."

"No, you cannot use the Bridge. The Bridge is actually essential at times."

He didn't seem too disappointed. In fact, it seemed he needed to visit a bathroom. His bouncing feet were beyond control by now.

"You can go plan it now, if you like."

He nodded quickly and thanked me several dozen times before he left. Before he went I heard him utter the idea of karaoke to himself and then he darted off with the door shutting behind him.

"Was that at all wise Sir?"

I decided to be truthful and shook my head. "No."

"Then why did you permit him to organise the event?"

I thought for a moment then took a sip of beer. "Have you ever taken a child shopping before T'Pol?"

She shook her head just as truthfully.

"Well I have, once. I took my eight-year-old cousin shopping whilst my aunt and uncle attended a very distance relative's wedding. I only had to amuse her until eight, and then they promised they'd be home again.

"That day I needed groceries and my cousin, Sarah, seemed quite happy to join me in the shops. But the moment we hit the shelves she turned on me. Suddenly she wanted ice cream and cookies and Coco Pops and then a hot pink dog collar to dress Porthos up with. And so she went on and on until I took her and a full sized tub of chocolate chipped ice cream, a bag of mint cookies, two boxes of Coco Pops, a new pencil case, a fake-leather wallet, a packet of ribbons and a hot pink dog collar home with me, calling it quits on the groceries."

T'Pol threw me somewhat of a sympathetic look. "That must have been… daunting, but I do not understand the relevance of the story."

I smiled half-heartedly and sighed as I leant back in my chair. "She was like a dog with a bone that day T'Pol, would not let up until she had what she wanted. And although all the maternity classes tell you that you should never cave to the whims of a child, it's sometimes the only option. If I don't let Trip do this, he will turn on me like Sarah did, and I wont hear the end of it until Enterprise retires in Space Dock with me."

She nodded, seeming to understand.

"I understand. But why did you have to tell me about Sarah?"

_(Like Halloween day but it was Fourth of July now)_


	2. Drag Racing Into Trip

**_Chapter Two – Drag Racing Into Trip_**

_A.N:_ _Short but sweet tis this chapter_

__

I decided the next day to join in with the bizarre buzz of energy that seemed to be spreading throughout the ship now, probably radiating from Trip wherever he bounded about like an overly adorable six-year-old.

It was also true though that we hadn't come across a planet suitable or interesting enough to stop and chat with in close to two weeks now. The crew were growing stiff muscles and agitated twitches over their left eyes. They too were radiating a buzz. They needed a vent, an excuse to burn off their puppy fat and I was more than happy to let Trip provide it. I knew there was a fifty/fifty chance I would regret it by the sixth.

It was my trusted Helmsman who was on hand that late morning to help me join in with the bizarre buzz of the ship. He ran up my heel with a convertible.

"Sir!" He looked truly mortified as he came round the corner with the sophisticated remote control toy, remote in hand to prove him guilty although the expression in his face was enough proof alone to throw him in the brig. I looked down first at the sleek red toy that had jammed into my ankle and then up at Mr Mayweather with a raised brow.

"You could cause an accident with that Ensign, I hope you know that."

He nodded hurriedly, swallowing once, trying to be discrete as the lump of saliva ran nosily down his throat in a very exaggerated manner.

"Yes Sir, I understand Sir. It's just," and here was when he began to look boyish and wishful in a very familiar way… "I took it with me last month when I was on the Horizon, thought I'd relive some old childhood memories by taking it for a spin…"

He trailed off and tilted his head to the side slightly, much in the way T'Pol was inclined to do, although she didn't tend to smile when she did it.

"I have another one in my quarters Sir, if you want to have a race. Convertible against monster truck."

The beginnings of a grin began to tease at the corners of my lips. T'Pol had the bridge, I was sure she could hold it for just another ten minutes…

…………

We hit the accelerators dead on together and raced after our vehicles through C Deck. Travis took an instant lead, but then of course his wheels didn't account to four times the mass of his shiny red hull. My battered green monster truck could probably have done with shedding a pound of two down below, and a paint job. My monster truck, however, which was dubbed 'Travis smells' on the bumper, did have the advantage of significant power over speed.

Running shoulder to shoulder with Travis I jarred my thumb into the LCD remote control screen and willed it on more than anything until it at least reached the back wheels of the convertible – dubbed 'Paul smells like a Vulcan' on the belly of the car. Then I let it rear onto its back wheels and slammed its ugly green bumper into the back of the slick, glossy competition. The car lost its momentum almost instantly and taking a sharp left nose-dived into the nearest wall.

"Hey, cheat!"

Travis seemed genuinely offended but I simply grinned as I backed off and carried on, overtaking him as he fumbled with reverse.

We were now approaching the door to the turbo lift for C Deck, before the race agreeing to make a full circuit of it by doubling back at this point and racing round to where we had started; the door to Travis's quarters. This plan, we had mutually agreed, was ingenious and near flawless in theory, and should only take around ten to fifteen minutes to execute (if we chose to execute just one circuit). However there were certain factors and variables we had not considered in our master plan, and the turbo lift door opening was one of them.

And sure enough, it did.

I threw my feet to a halt as the gentle whooshing of the doors surprised me and threw me off guard, but forgot about the monster truck as it continued merrily along on its four monster wheels. Four merciless, crushable looking wheels.

The crowd in the lift scattered amidst yelps and stupefied gazes upon their dignified Captain, leaving all but one to stand looking lost in the middle in his content, far away thoughts.

I truly did feel bad for Trip when the truck took an unexplained leap and cascaded into his left shin, making a cringing noise with something as it crash landed and Trip dropped what he had been carrying in his hand onto the foot of the originally uninjured other leg.

He hoped wildly from foot to foot, cursing in his colourful Southern accent as he spat and danced and spat some more.

"What the hell—" he opened his screwed up eyes and saw me standing sheepishly with the remote control clutched in one hanging hand, the other raised in a plea asking for the chance to explain myself. Behind me Travis cradled his convertible, looking as innocent as any Denobulan caught eating his own toenail clippings and enjoying them.

"Trip, I'm sorry, I truly am—"

"Sorry?" He did not look happy. "Sorry? You've just broke ma damn shin and smashed ma big toe in! How am ah supposed to plan a Halloween/4th o' July ball when ah'm on ma blinkin' knees here?"

Trip was not on his knees, but Captain I may be, I was not for arguing with his overdone case. The others in the lift wisely enough scattered, all heading for random quarters that I was sure were nowhere near their original destinations. One managed to kick what Trip had been holding out of the lift and then took off like a gazelle as he saw the fury in the so often docile Southerner's eyes.

"What's in the suitcase Trip?"

The plan of distraction worked and Trip dropped his shin as he beamed down at the fairly large leather case, picking it up again and hugging it into his chest.

"Face paint."

He said it as if I were supposed to not wonder and worry about where he had gotten face paint from.

"For those that really wanna regress into their childhood when dressin' up, maself included of course."

"You mean we're actually going to have a Halloween disco tomorrow? I thought that was another of Hoshi's rumours."

The Ensign behind me began to share Trip's boyish, wishful look again. They were hitting me from all angles now, and my concern for their true mental age began to give me a headache. A hypocrite I was, I know, as I tried to ignore the crashed monster truck at Trip's feet.

"Commander, where did you get the face paint?"

Trip's smile grew perky. "It's amazin' what Chef can do with leftovers."

And on that he shut over the turbo lift doors taking the monster truck with him.

_(A car crash with a suitcase and a painted face)_


	3. T’Pol Has A Milkshake Whilst Archer Watc...

**_Chapter Three_****_ – T'Pol Has A Milkshake Whilst Archer Watches Traffic_**

The mess hall seemed like a safe enough place to retreat to after the events with my boyish Helmsman and Halloween-struck Commander. I hadn't the energy to Captain a bridge (or so I told myself) and the Mars Bar cake cooking in the kitchen that lunchtime was just too much to resist temptation by repeating 'boiled cabbage' in my mind every time I thought of it. I had to have my share.

There were several people in the mess hall that I knew shouldn't have been there at this time; Joey still had another half hour of a shift to complete and Tommy had a night shift that begged for him to be in bed right now. The captivating hold of Gina's classic blue gaze on him however trapped him like a wheel could a hamster. He was doomed to have bags under his eyes by the dawn. I ignored them and the guilt that radiated as I took a seat beside another of my crew who I believed should not have been here.

"Sub Commander, I thought I gave you the bridge for the rest of the shift."

She nodded. Hoshi was dining with her but I decided to ask why of that in a minute. I was fighting to keep the teasing smile from my jaw as I interrogated my so often order-abiding First Officer.

"Technically that was not my shift to take, and you never specified that it was an order for myself alone to hold the bridge for you, so I gave command to Lieutenant Reed. He seemed more than happy to take our place."

"Our place? Sounds like the Chair's become a timeshare."

She levitated a brow. "Timeshare?"

I thought it be ironically easier to move onto my next question. Those kinds of questions were best answered by Trip, for the amusement of it more than anything else in all honesty.

"You two talking about anything interesting, girl-talk and the likes that I should maybe skip to the next table to avoid?"

Thinking about it now I don't believe I had even seen the Sub Commander and the linguist dine together. Like watching the lioness and the gazelle side by side at the watering hole; it was almost poetic in a disturbing and suspicious kind of way.

"Ensign Sato was simply suggesting that I attend the… party Commander Tucker is organising. Above that she suggests that I attend in 'fancy dress' for the occasions. I have declined both offers and she is now persisting with her argument. I cannot convince her to leave me alone."

If she had been anything but a Vulcan the statement would have been said snarl-lipped with punctuation by the back of the throat on the last three syllables. Because she _was_ Vulcan it was more amusing to hear it all said in monotone with a quipped brow and nothing else. I thought I saw a flicker in her fingertips, but that was all.

Hoshi looked suspiciously pleased with herself, smugness laden all around the eyes and the mouth. She must have believed she was getting somewhere. I didn't have the heart to explain to her that _Soval_ rarely got anywhere with T'Pol at the best of times.

Beyond T'Pol's neatly laid hands sitting atop the table was a tall glass of thick, pale-pink liquid that only now caught my attention. It looked suspiciously like a strawberry milkshake.

"T'Pol… why are you drinking strawberry milkshake?"

I asked the question slowly, semi-cautious, semi-terrified by the scenario. If there was something wrong with my Sub Commander, mentally, well with Trip's current condition I don't think I could bring myself to promote him, even if it would be a necessity.

"Ensign Sato had originally promised me that she would drop the current topic if I tried strawberry milkshake. I have now done so but the promise was not fulfilled."

I eased myself back in the chair and felt it was safe to smile again.

"Sir, tell her. Tell her it's essential to fraternise in social callings like these. And tell her it's not 'illogical', it's just a bit of fun."

Hoshi had obviously grown more audacious with the Vulcan than I had given her credit for. From now on she could take Soval's calls from me.

"I still do not understand the true importance of either July the 4th or Halloween that they would call for 'essential fraternising', or any major fuss as it sees they have throughout the crew."

She looked genuinely mixed up (for a Vulcan) and I went back slightly to the semi-terrified mode. Trip sitting at T'Pol's station decked in a Tarzan outfit was _not_ a comforting thought.

"Really it's the Sub Commander's choice Ensign. I can't make her do anything she's not comfortable with unless it's essential."

Hoshi pouted, but not for long.

"The outfit doesn't have to be extravagant or silly you know." She was talking to the brick wall again. "You could… dress up as a human, or a cat, or, _oh_, a beauty queen!"

It seemed Hoshi had struck gold, at least in her fanciful mind. She took off at Warp three on the tongue.

"It's perfect! All you have to do it slip into a dress, some stilettos, a sash and a crown. I suppose we could go for a bouquet, but it would have to be artificial. No, forget the bouquet. I have a crown, and Tactical have sashes that I'm sure we could jazz up a little. Do you own a dress? A nice one, like a ball gown or something like that?"

For once it seemed Ensign Sato had become capable of doing serious (mental) damage to someone no less than ninety-eight percent stronger than herself. T'Pol was – and I couldn't believe it for a moment but it was true – speechless. She looked slowly, almost pleadingly over at me.

"I don't think she owns a dress Hoshi."

Hoshi made a thoughtful _'Humph'_ noise and then went back to pondering hard, knitting her eyebrows together as she cradled her chin in her hand and leant her elbow against the table, diving into problem solving mode. Looking like she was mastering her first alien language again – good old Klingon.

"Sir, someone will have to watch the bridge whilst the event is taking place."

T'Pol had managed to grab control of her tongue again, thank God… (Honest I was glad about that…)

"I understand you are quite enthusiastic about attending this event, so I would be more than willing to take aboard the duty on my own whilst the crew enjoy their celebrations tomorrow."

I don't know how, but I had truly forgotten how wily T'Pol could be at times. Her statement was so painfully spot on. I didn't want to deny anyone a chance to go to the party just to have to go on duty, myself guiltily included. However I was naturally reluctant to leaving Earth's masterpiece unguarded in the middle of spaceship-eating space.

Looking out of one of the portholes I saw another ship cruise by. It was not something that happened often, traffic outside, and less so traffic that didn't want to stop and chat, but it did and so I watched it in the diner of my own ship as it quickly shot off in the distance.

I sighed. "You have a point Sub Commander, I'll admit. But I'd like it if you made an appearance. The whole point of this party, in essence, is to relieve stress and over-worked personnel. That includes you whether you deny it or not. It would do you good, just like it would all of us, to take a night off. The rest of the employed world do it, I don't see why we can't too."

I was quite pleased with that speech.

"May I ask a question?"

I nodded. "Of course."

She turned to Hoshi.

"What is a 'beauty queen'?"

_(Mixed up as a milkshake_

_Watching traffic for days at the diner)_


	4. Jon & T’P Do Some Bonding

**_Chapter Four –_****_ Jon & T'P Do Some Bonding_**

_A.N_

I am a dead-writer if I don't mention a little thank you and dedication due in order for a one _Carrie Anderson, _who is most commonly seen around the 'Dirty Dancing' section on Without her random inspiration,the roller-skates scene probably wouldn't quite exist in the form it does in the following chapter. Enjoy...

……………………

As it turned out, Travis had a box full of old childhood memories he was just waiting to run Starfleet Captains over with. I was venturing from hallway to hallway deep in isolated thinking mode, when he cascaded down B Deck at a furious speed and found himself in an entirely inappropriate and very cosy position atop my chest.

"Ensign!"

Scrambling and falling and scrambling some more the skilled boomer tried to claw his way back to some degree of a vertical position by grappling at the walls as he slipped and slid on an archaic pair of roller skates no less.

"Horizon?"

He nodded meekly as he dusted himself off and found a sliver of balance.

"Yes Sir."

He looked beyond apologetic. He looked like he would choke on his own guilt if he tried to issue a verbal apology. I felt obliged to dive in and save him from such a difficult-to-explain-when-the-mother-asks-_how_-her-boy-had-died fate.

"What size are they?"

I was also getting around to asking something. He looked up at me with a strange relieved frown.

"A nine Sir."

I beamed. "Perfect. I haven't skated since I was fifteen."

"_You_ skated Sir?"

I wasn't particularly fond of his emphasis on the 'you'. "Those skates and my want to have a shot of them are saving you from confinement to your quarters _again_ Ensign. I suggest you begin to believe in my abilities."

He still looked sceptical, but I guessed that was unintentional enough.

Finally with a shrug he placed his back to the wall and slid down carefully to the floor, no less managing to skid two thirds of the way down and make a satisfying _thud_ with his poor buttocks on the poor floor. The 'you' comment wasn't all that insulting when he did that.

"Here you go Sir. Just to let you know though, I think the floors have just been buffed or something, it's quite smooth riding round those bends."

Not that B Deck had that many bends to call its own; there were a row of quarters which included the Sub Commander's right where there was a T-junction and then to the left the turbo lift and to the right a communal bathroom. I never did ask why that was there, considering every quarter had a bathroom of its own.

"Thanks Ensign. I think that's the second shot on the Chair I owe you."

"I'll hold you to it Sir."

The thing was, he would.

Sitting on the floor myself now I donned the size nines on my size eight and a half feet, briskly slipping on the left skate as I just remembered the hole that I had worn into the big toe of my blue sock. Travis was grateful discreet about witnessing it.

"You know Sir, I have a skateboard too, _oh_ and a toy bow and arrow set. I bet you'd make a great—"

"_Don't_ say it, don't even mouth it."

He pursed his lips together and amidst his respect for me fought back a sneaky smile. Payback I assumed, and rightly so. But then I had every right to be not entirely keen on random Ensigns skating along B Deck and landing on me with the force of a Klingon on steroids. A Klingon on steroids… I let out an involuntary shiver.

Slowly I stood up, slightly more held together than my Helmsman had been. I smiled proudly as my hand hovered close to the wall, just in case. We stood at the end of B Deck together, T'Pol's quarters dead ahead of me. I wasn't sure whether she was in or not. I prayed for the latter.

"Give me a push?"

Travis shrugged, finally realising it had been _X_ number of years since I had skated, and I was allowed a push without the mock to go alongside it.

"Ready?"

I nodded. Then I wondered what I was doing. Then I realised that the buzz had gotten to me far more than I had promised myself I would let it. How bizarre…

Travis let rip one almighty push and I yelped in surprise as I bolted forward at a tremendous Warp speed. There was no stopping me now as I rolled on forth towards the one place I so dearly did _not_ want to crash in to, but looked like I was going to anyway. Damn those gods…

Travis, loyal as ever, chased after behind me, but was unsure whether he would be sent to the brig or not for trying to assist me whilst inevitably crushing my pride in the process.

"For God's sake Travis, this was a bad idea and I'm sorry so help me!"

Bless his boomer heart he tried, he truly did, and I could see that, _sort of_ behind me, but as I said, there was no stopping me. An extra burst of speed came from an involuntary reflex that sent a random foot flying back as I tumbled on, T'Pol's quarters remaining stubbornly in the line of fire.

And then that blasted thing happened again where a door opened.

As it was, T'Pol was in. And as it was, her bed was laid out directly across from the door, which was curious because I don't think I'd ever seen a bed laid out like that in any of other the quarters before. I tilted my head as I considered it, quite fascinated, before I looked up and saw what appeared to be shameless horror ripped across the unfortunate Vulcan's face. I honestly wondered at times why she was still aboard with us…

I had no choice now but to assume crash landing position and so I tucked my head in, squeezed my eyes shut and did some all-essential praying. T'Pol dove back into her quarters and made too much of a fumbled rush of trying to shut the door over, giving me enough time to leap magnificently through the door.

There was a yelp and a thud and much cringing on Travis's behalf as stars and stripes crossed my vision, and for a brief moment I was sunbathing in California.

Then I was being shoved off of a Sub Commander, or at least desperate hands were trying to.

We had managed a tangled landing in the bed, and had taken up the Klingon-steroid position myself and Travis had held not ten minutes ago. T'Pol did not look impressed by my skating skills. T'Pol looked terrifyingly mad.

"I agreed," with a grunt she shoved me onto the floor and I landed with a crunch on my tailbone, "to cover your shift on the bridge at this time so that you could consider some decisions you had to make and catch up on a backlog of recordings you said you had. _Not_ so that you could play in the corridors with Ensign Mayweather."

She threw him a look that made his bladder cower.

"May I ask for an explanation?"

I thought for a moment then pursed my lips together to fight off the emerging grin.

"What size feet to you have T'Pol?"

……………………

I tapped Ensign Mayweather politely on the shoulder. He was sitting comfortably at the Helm. I had newfound respect for him, and was jealous of him because he was clever enough to run from the line of fire as soon as I had convinced a simmering T'Pol to donned those skates.

She had picked up the skills of skating very quickly, and had exceptional balance. She swore to me however, on some strange alien-tongued Vulcan oath that her sense of direction had not been her own and she had not intended to chase me through B Deck and then down flights of stairs I didn't even know existed on my ship!

At least I knew now all those 'Dodge the Klingon' classes with Malcolm in the gym had not been a waste of off-shift time.

I hadn't realised my chest was heaving as I hung over Travis, skates held in hand by the laces. Hoshi had backed off to the left on her station, and Malcolm's fingers hovered uncomfortably close to several red switches before him.

"I apologise for pestering these off you. Here."

I happily dumped them beside his feet, ignoring the clatter of steel against steel as I threw myself into my Chair.

"If anyone needs me I'll be in my happy place."

And that was where I went, eyes glazed, not concerned in the slightest that ideas of being captained by a slightly crazy middle-aged man were now entering Hoshi's mind.

I dutifully ignored the _swish_ of the turbo lift door as it did that thing and opened. I found ignoring slightly less easy to do as Trip did his six-year-old sneak-up-on-dad-routing and scared the holy Porthos-poop out of me. I don't know why it was holy Porthos-poop…

"Cap'in, ah need some clearance on somethin'."

Catching my breath I thought of a few things I wouldn't mind clearing out of this ship via the airlock.

"Trip!"

The entire bridge sucked air deep into their lungs. I re-taught myself the ignoring skit.

"Yes?"

He smiled. I waited.

"Can ah use some of that material we traded D'Marr the coffee for?"

I blinked, and then I forced down the rush of aggressive adrenalin that hit my system faster than any bout of coffee could.

"D'Marr? The trader from last year? The trader who offered us the silks but we _refused? _The one we only took _information_ from us in exchange for ten kilos of coffee?"

Trip nodded dutifully. "Yep, that's him."

I should have given myself a wider berth for believing I would regret this Halloween/4th of July idea.

"What materials are you talking about then?"

"The materials I traded the lipstick for this time."

I wanted T'Pol back…

"I thought you said coffee. Wait, what lipstick? When?"

Trip in turn began to look agitated. "Just _then_, a few hours ago at lunch. Didn't y' see his ship go by? It's gotten pretty big since last time we saw it."

"Trip! What did I say your limitations were?"

He pondered for a moment then nodded. "No over board jesters an' no usin' the bridge."

"Trip." I forced myself to remember that at times Trip needed special consideration. "Did you just edit what I told you yesterday in your head today to suit yourself?"

I then lost his eye contact, but pushed onwards anyway. "Go on, be honest. I wont throw you in the brig."

No, only T'Pol when I decided to go back and get her…

"The rule about no tradin' _might_ have slipped ma mind when ah commed him."

I nodded, somewhat satisfied with his honesty. "You can use the materials. If I see a scrap of it on this bridge you can lock yourself in the brig tonight."

The bridge released their deeply held breath. I checked quickly to see if everyone still had a pulse. Shaky as Hoshi looked they seemed okay.

"Go, before I throttle you."

It was cute that he thought I was joking as he bounded off again, throwing Malcolm a quick nod and a wink.

"Y' might have t' restock on toothpicks as well Sir."

I ignored that one.

Travis turned in his chair slightly, enough that he could make eye contact with me; not enough that he felt he was in any line of fire.

"Sir, where is T'Pol anyway? Isn't she meant to be on duty right now?"

I bit back the awful smile that I knew meant I was just being a little too cruel and enjoying it just a little too much. Of course the same thing could probably have been said for T'Pol as she watched me ponder where the stairs from C Deck had come from as I tumbled down them.

"You can go explain that one to Porthos Ensign, if you so desire."

_(And roller-skates in bed_

_Share a toothpick, trading lipstick)_


	5. What We Want To Be When We Grow Up

**_Chapter Five – _****_What We Want To Be When We Grow Up_**

Hoshi, being the ruthless linguist that she is, made me go back and get T'Pol after that. Don't ask me why, it's not like the two held any of that cliqued sisterly bond thing between them that you tend to see in the forbidden film genre to men that is the 'chick flick', but her vicious hazel glare did not look impressed by my antics, (although she did look hungry…)

The release of the lioness was as brief as my canine companion and I could make it. She no less held a nerve-pinch glare in her eyes that I hadn't seen since, well… last week when I ordered her to work on a project with Trip that involved volatile chemicals and a dangerously clueless Trip. (And here was me thinking it do them good to work together on a mutual project. Oh well. Wouldn't be the first of my plans that's shot to hell, quite literally. It was the first plan of mines to shoot a hole in the roof of sickbay though…)

I'd be a fool and a liar to try and convince myself it hadn't been worth it, putting an un-bathed Porthos on guard as he kept her thoroughly pissed off in a corner, her nose, I'm sure, losing the will to live as she growled that this was a violation of her restraining order on the dog. I had enough bruises on my ass to remind me that every second I delayed loitering in the corridors when I went off to get her, talking to crewmen I'm sure I'd never seen even before, had been worth it.

In a silence broken only by snorts of immature laugher admittedly made on my behalf, we returned to the bridge for the last half hour of the shift.

Slowly as the night (metaphorically) drew in the regular faces of the bridge left to be replaced by their second-to-regulars. Travis left first, trying to hide the skates from T'Pol. Failing to of course. Then Hoshi edged away, not unaware of the nerve-pinch-glare now trained on me and unlikely to be going away any time soon. I would have huffed away a little at the fact that Hoshi was point blank afraid of the Sub Commander, yet quite happy to show her audacious side to me, but I was too happy from before so I found my ability to feel the emotion of pestered anger lacking.

Malcolm had had a fun day. Malcolm had gotten to play Captain Malcolm for almost two full shifts. (And I'm sure in that time he had fired at least one missile at a glitch on the screen.) But Captain Malcolm was as glad to call it a day in the line of duty when his replacement came in, as I would be happy when I found a pair of sunglasses for T'Pol to put on.

Technically no one had the Chair past nine, not when space was being this boring. The comm. system stayed on and that was all I needed for peace of mind in that department.

"I thought you would appreciate a head start Sir."

It was five to nine and I turned warily to my devoted First Officer, the one person on this ship really who shouldn't be staring at me like that.

"Pardon?"

"Leave, before I find out what revenge feels like."

I don't know what she'd call chasing me through corridors on skates if that wasn't revenge, but I did exactly as I was ordered. Travis has passed her the skates on his way out.

There was always a fifty/fifty chance that the mess hall would be on my way en route back to my quarters at the end of a day, depending on where I was on the bridge at the time; on the bridge and hungry, or on the bridge and not so hungry. Today it was the first of those, the route I liked taking after a day being chased and mutilated by a Vulcan on the warpath. (Let me be the first human in history to say it thank you.)

I brought Porthos with me. I felt the proud, responsible owner as he chose, really only of his own free will, to walk to heel. He seemed perfectly unaware of the fact that there was now a feline on the hunt most likely for him as well as my own – relatively innocent I'd say – self. Bless his naïve doggy heart, but I was honest to God frightened for him.

I like the dinner hall at night. When empty the air, like most things, tastes like chicken, and doesn't smell so much of half-digested beans since Chef opens the doors and lets the recycled air circulate. Retreat heaven. Yes, I am aware that this is partly what your quarters are for, but I was hungry and Chef doesn't like you taking food out the hall and to your quarters, especially at night, and generally what Chef says, goes.

Porthos and I opened one of the doors together and stopped there. The doors hadn't been left to ventilate the recycled air, it didn't quite taste of chicken inside, and it wasn't empty. Instead a cluster of my crew had taken up residency in the middle of the hall – Captain Malcolm, the ever-giddy Trip, Travis (oh ho, Travis) and Phlox (beer in hand in place of toenails). Travis cringed at my particular interest in him.

"It wasn't my fault Sir, honest! Her fingers were twitching, and she had her eye on my neck. You ever been nerve pinched by a Vulcan? Well I have. The skates were all hers I'm afraid."

After a second, all silent gazes directed at our boomer and perhaps the longest speech he had made in his life, I shrugged a 'what the hell, she's been looking for an excuse to chase me down stairs I didn't even know existed until now since she boarded this ship' and sat. Porthos had already made himself comfortable at Phlox's feet. I was determined that one of these days I'd find out what it was between those two. Today would not be that day. Instead I cocked a perfected T'Pol-brow at his beer and asked without asking. He smiled. Thankfully it was a reserved smile.

"Commander Tucker suggested it to me. Interesting as the taste is though, it's not quite what I'd usually prefer."

No, I know exactly what his usual tastes accounted for; those chunky, crusty, yellow—

"Sir, what are you going as tomorrow?"

Malcolm grabbed my attention just in time, before I added my own addition to the froth atop the doctor's warming beer.

"Huh?"

"Tomorrow, at Trips' party. You have to dress up, the whole crew's dressing up now, not an exception amongst them."

"I've chosen to go as Dr Frankenstein."

I gave Phlox a lope-sided grin. Go figure.

"Ah think he should go as the Greyhound."

Both Porthos and I threw a quizzing brow in Trips' direction.

"Not the dog, the train, on account o' you should never be allowed to drive a vehicle again after that monster truck fiasco."

Ah, the Greyhound. That trusted mode of public transport we all knew and loved, which had gracefully aged over the years to become the gravity-defying death trap it is today. And they wonder why shuttlecraft traffic continued to grow on an average of 3.78 every year. I wondered why I had ridden it so often from my hometown and back to visit my mum out East. But that was a random wonder for another day because now I had five sets of eager eyes just waiting to see what I would come out with as way of an answer.

"What are you going as Malcolm?"

They passed a patient sigh between them as I smiled, enjoying my authority as authority should be enjoyed – getting your own way no matter what the circumstance.

"I'm going as Superman."

I bit down so hard on my lip I thought I had drawn blood. Trip's face spilt with a grin of utter delight.

"Y' know, y'd think hearin' it for the eighth time it wouldn't be quite so amusin' – but it is."

Malcolm shot him a look that was so dark it looked like the girls had gotten to him with the eyeliner again. I released my lip and smiled to somewhat of a lesser degree than Trip's unbeatable grin.

"Where did you get the costume?"

Malcolm looked directly over to Travis.

"Okay… Trip, what you doing outfit wise?"

The other three rolled their eyes and sagged in their seats.

"We've been trying to get him to tell us for the better part of an hour now. It would be futile to ask I think, unless you ordered him to tell you. And even then…"

When Phlox trailed off in ellipses you knew to heed what he was saying. Trip's smile seemed to be growing younger with each chance we gave it, so I moved on to my last customer.

"Travis?"

His smile boasted pride. I was dreading to think.

"I'm going as the legendry Joe DiMaggio, a.k.a Joltin' Joe."

I pouted out my bottom lip thoughtfully. "Really? I didn't know you got baseball games beamed onto cargo ships."

A muscle ticked over his left eye. "Sir, I've been asking if we can order in bats and balls in for the better part of a year and a half now."

I bit the pouting lip once again. That would explain the small pile of unread petition letters in the bottom of my desk drawer then. A quick diversion was as much in order as it ever would be.

"Well I don't know what to go as, yet. I'll have to think about it, sleep on it."

Trip suddenly looked angst. The kind of angst that was born through agitation that came when everything, absolutely everything, wasn't going his way. For a Southern boy he was unusually uppity.

"Yes, Trip?"

He drummed his fingers lightly across the table, throwing on a façade of calm that was as convincing as Hoshi's 'brave face'.

"Y' know y' only have twenty-one an' a half hours until the party right?"

I hated it when he tempted me to split a grin at an inappropriate time. So many times it had gotten me into trouble with the Big Guns. But I kept myself restrained and locked on a sincerely sympathetic pair of eyes with his.

"Yes, Trip, I understand. I wont let you down – I'll be going the whole nine and a half yards, for the sake of staff moral."

He eased back slightly in his chair. "Good, good."

I realised then that the very one point of me coming here had been destroyed, as I looked around at the shelves that hugged three of the four walls of the mess hall and saw them as bare as Soval's 'caring face'. Strange enough, the four men around me looked content around the stomach area. I held in a discontent crimple of the nose and stood up.

"Well, it was… interesting to hear the costume ideas, but I've still got the job of Captain to get on with and scans to run, regardless of party plans I'm afraid. Duty wont be excused until—"

"Seven."

"Seven, so full attendance at your stations would be appreciated until then. Goodnight."

I received a chorus of 'goodnights' back as I waited for Porthos who was quite happy to come in his own time, and then left them with a discarding wave.

I didn't get very far en route back to my cosy quarters. I was met by the lioness and the gazelle again. They were exiting the territory of the gazelle, the lioness non-too pleased as she involuntarily held hands with that which was usual her prey.

"You lied to me _again_ Ensign. I am gradually finding it difficult to trust you."

Hoshi managed to stop the Sub Commander going any further down the corridor, grabbing more persistently at her wrist and tugging her back into the doorway of her quarters. Both were happily oblivious of my approach.

"Technically, and firstly, I didn't lie, more you just misinterpreted my intentions. Secondly, you're being a complete Vulcan about this!"

"Ladies."

The two turned and nodded and then turned back and crashed their glared together again.

"It would be difficult for me to 'be' anything other than a Vulcan Ensign. You are asking the obscure of me, I do not see how you can expect me to reply with enthusiasm."

Hoshi was asking for enthusiasm off of T'Pol? Trip had gotten to her.

"Goodnight Sir."

With one surge of Vulcan strength T'Pol yanked her wrist free and stalked down the corridor and into the turbo lift. Hoshi stood on her tiptoes, for effect I guess.

"Don't think I don't know where your quarters are! Don't think I'll be letting this go! Don't—"

It seemed T'Pol didn't want to 'Don't' anymore as the turbo lift doors shut over and she disappeared without protest about it.

"Rough night Ensign?"

She blew a sigh that seemed to carry on into the dawn and then turned back to the retreat of her quarters.

"Goodnight Sir."

And really I was lucky just to get that out her.

_(Crash rides the greyhound from his hometown  
When he comes around 'cause they don't let him drive now _

_Playing Superman, he was wearing eyeliner_

_Holding hands, making big plans)_


End file.
